omens
by crispycrumblycrust
Summary: The aftermath of this week's episode (Child in Your Shadow).


_This is done in several days, so expect roughness. I'm usually slow (like,_ really _slow). This is rushed writing, very unlike me, but something about this week's ep just spurned me on or something and not in a good way…_

 _This is less about the squad being one, big unrequited mess and more about the squad Being Like Usual (aka everything is a mess and no one is all right)._

* * *

Henrik isn't hiding in here. Not particularly. But whispers and stares follow him everywhere.

Judgment.

News travels fast. Twenty four hours are more than enough to change the truth into a horrendous tale. The details are wrong but the global message remains the same: Henrik hurt Roxanna.

It _hurts_. It hurts more than the too bright, fake smiles of Sacha, the way depression and sorrow surround him, the same way they're chasing Henrik. It hurts more than Dominic arriving just in time on Wednesday morning, exhausted and hung over, but sparkling with happiness and joy. It hurts more than Essie providing him comforting but meaningless smiles.

But the worst...the worst is Roxanna. In the past few days, he hated the fact that General and Neurosurgery share the same floor.

Today is a Friday, and he's considered calling in sick. A lie, but Henrik _feels_ sick and exhausted. His shift has yet to begin. Normally, he aches for it to end so he can retreat back to his home. But even his safe bubble is filled with memories of Roxanna in the study, in the kitchen, in the hall, playing on a loop. While beforehe cherished them, now they suffocate him.

So he finds himself here now, back in the staff room, where the final nudge was given.

 _The problem isn't love,_ his therapist has once said.

No, the problem is _how_ to deal with it. This time, Henrik has finally taken a leap of faith, let go of control, and _this_ has happened.

Never again.

"Hey."

It's John, head poking through the door.

Henrik wonders how long he's been standing there, _what_ exactly he knows. He nods to him, stands straighter. He's surprised to see him – John can be capricious – but the jolt of alertness is the first positive thing he feels in three days.

John nods back, steps in the room. He doesn't close the door, leaving Henrik an escape route.

"How are you doing?" he asks softly.

An ordinary question, if coming from anyone else but John. And Henrik hates lying to him, so he remains silent.

John suddenly hesitates, licks his lips and glances away. "I'm sorry."

An apology, yet with John it's never as simple as that. Everything is layered and complex, like a wall of intricate webs.

John must have know what's happened. He has ears and eyes everywhere. Perhaps he's even spoken to Roxanna.

Henrik winces. The image of Roxanna bursting into tears and rushing off will haunt him forever.

"I wanted to come sooner but there were matters that I couldn't leave unsupervised." He shrugs, a helpless gesture for once.

Henrik nods, simply because he doesn't know what to say, or do.

"Rox won't be here, not until this afternoon. She'll mostly be in theater, performing back to back surgery."

Henrik frowns. He's checked her schedule several times. John must have changed things. It's his right as medical director, but Henrik suspects he might be the reason.

John seems to read his mind and shakes his head. "It's a mutual decision. Rox wanted to take a little break from the trial."

"How is Roxanna?" he asks.

John tilts his head, regards him for a moment. "She's all right now." His voice betrays nothing else.

Well, she seemed fine on Wednesday, except for the melancholy slowing her steps, and a faraway look in her eyes. Henrik's caused this. Unknowingly, yes, but that's never an excuse. It's still his fault and his alone. Each time he ignores reason and listens to his heart, something bad happens. Each time he loves someone, something terrible happens. And each time he has no idea how to fix this mess.

"She called me on Tuesday evening. I think she was tipsy. She talked about many things." He stops, frowns. "And something about her mother."

So Henrik isn't the only one, then. She hasn't confided in John either about her mother.

What has happened to them? They have been friends, _good_ friends for decades, yet secrets, hidden agendas, and silence separate them.

Since when have they become estranged from each other?

"She also mentioned a badge."

Their eyes meet, and in that moment, he's certain that John _knows._ Roxanna perhaps has failed to see the significance of his gift, but John hasn't. He's held onto it, planned to give it to her whenhe ever decided to declare his feelings. _When_ changed to _if_ when John introduced them to David. _If_ changed to _never_ once she and David showed mutual interest in each other. He's confided in John years later. His reaction has always mystified him. For a long time Henrik thought he's seen hurt, jealousy even. But now he's not so certain – nothing is with John. Now he thinks it was remorse.

"Don't worry, I'll keep my eyes open," John says. Both of them know there are worse ways of coping. At least Roxanna is handling matters better. At least Roxanna has John to fall back on.

John hasn't said anything either – she hasn't confronted him in any way. Henrik wonders whose feelings he's taking into account.

"If that's all right with you?" he asks slowly, uncertain suddenly.

Henrik frowns. As if the decision isn't already made for him. Annoyance swirls up from somewhere deep inside him, but he's too tired to say something. Anything. That should alarm him. His therapist's told him several times not to ignore certain thoughts and emotions. Henrik's doing it right now.

John smiles, a smile he only shows to him in private, as if to say, _don't worry, everything_ _will be fine_ _, this will pass_. Henrik's not sure if this is projection or mirroring.

John glances at the clock, frowns. "I hate to cut this short, but I think we should leave."

He raises his brow. He isn't aware Johnhas something planned that includes him.

"Your appointment at Eight?"

Now, _ho_ _w_ has John obtained this information? This is something Henrik's only decided on a whim, during his lunch break yesterday. John is observant – perhaps a bit _too_ observant – but he rarely _acts_ on it if it's a personal matter. Henrik shows him the same courtesy, won't push too much if John doesn't want to talk.

John licks his lips, takes a deep breath, as if to reassure himself, then says, "If you want to, I can drive you."

Henrik blinks. That can't be right. Here's John, who detests therapists and thinks medication is nonsense: faith and determination should be enough. And yet he's standing here, offering his company.

There must be a hidden agenda.

"Keeping an eye on me, John?" he snaps at him.

"...What?" John stares, eyes wide with shock. He opens his mouth, closes it, swallows and stares down, speechless for once.

This is a chance. He can use this as an excuse to not go. He's already _finished_ his sessions this Monday. They've shook hands, said goodbye, chapter closed.

But John seems lost and defeated. They match his state of mind. He exhales. "I'm sorry, John. That was uncalled for."

John meets his eyes, blinks, blinks again and shakes his head. "It's fine."

It _isn't –_ nothing is – but somehow, John's still here. This must be important to him, important enough to change the rules and hold his ground. He hasn't retreated, as John usually would, give him space and time, everything on Henrik's term.

He remembers. The sessions, him stepping out of his comfort zone, learning other ways to deal with...well, everything. He's doing this for others, not himself.

Suddenly, saying _no_ becomes impossible. He only nods.

John exhales through his mouth, as if he's narrowly escaped the worst case scenario. "We don't need to leave right now, but it's better to be early than late, right?"

It's not even a funny joke, but Henrik smiles. The first, genuine one since Tuesday.

He walks past John, waits as John closes the door softly behind him. He catches a whiff of his aftershave and shampoo. His hair seems a bit wet too.

...Surely not?

As they walk across the ward, Henrik tenses when eyes fall on him. What feels like many pairs of eyes, must only be a couple ones at most.

But something is different. The whispers and stares lack a certain...heaviness.

A porter greets John with a _hello, professor_ , waggling his eyebrows.

When he came in earlier, new whispers reach his ears, and the contents are not about Henrik, but John: seen in the showers, caught in a state of undress, applying shaving balm on his cheeks. At the moment, he discarded them. Surely his mind must be playing tricks on him, falling back to the familiar. Since he's arrived here at this hospital, John's always in his mind, like background noise, and always unpredictable.

The rumor mill is as ruthless as it is fickle. Just as John.

A couple of nurses _giggl_ _e_ as they wait for the lift.

He turns his eyes to John. He's not embarrassed, or even angry. He's smiling, like the cat that got the cream. Almost as if...

Suddenly, Henrik understands what he's done. John, who hates to draw attention to himself almost as much as Henrik, who wears suits like an armor too, has diverted attention away from him, at his own expense.

A warm fuzziness spreads across his body and mind.

The lift is empty, but when the doors open on the second floor, he feels rather than sees John standing closer to him. The air thickens, gains a hostile tint, not directed to Henrik, but to the others.

The doors close. The mood lifts. Henrik shows a grateful smile that John answers with an easy shrug. He _can_ take care of himself, but sometimes, it's good to have someone by his side.

The journey to his car passes without accident.

John grabs the bag on the passenger's seat and throws it in the back seat. The implications are clear here. The chances that Henrik would have said _yes,_ not once but several times, was low. The fact that John has tried nonetheless, speaks volume.

Henrik takes the empty seat, watches as John slowly, carefully closes the door.

A phone buzzes when he slides in the driver's seat. John frowns, fishes out his mobile. Henrik catches a glimpse of a foreign number and country code.

"Do you need to answer it?" he asks when John ignores the call and closes the door.

The screen flashes several missed calls before John sets it face down on the storage compartment between them. He pries off his employee card and throws it atop his phone. Another card peeks underneath them. Henrik stares. From Switzerland. Ah, the country code belongs to Switzerland.

"I have an excellent team at my disposal," he answers, glancing at the dashboard.

That wasn't the question. And John isn't answering him, an irritating habit, if Henrik isn't guilty of this too.

Henrik leans forward, rests his hand on his wrist when he sticks the car key in the ignition. "Be that as it may-"

"If it's important, they'll leave a voicemail," John interrupts him. "Otherwise, it can wait."

The trial is important to John. The most important thing, Henrik sometimes thinks. John stares at him, a challenge clear in his eyes. Something else is lurking there too, something painfully familiar. His mirror reflection shows something similar when he thinks about Roxanna and gives certain thoughts and emotions a free passage.

They've reached a stalemate.

Henrik acts first, knowing how determined and tireless John can be, and lets him go. He immediately misses the warm, skin to skin contact. He frowns and sits back.

John turns the key. "I was thinking," he says softly, as the engine roars for a split second, "maybe we can grab some breakfast after the session."

Henrik recognizes a changed subject when he sees one, but this is more. Even in profile, John appears haggard and tired.

For a moment, he feels the urge to compare the harm. Who has slept more, eaten more?

John meets his eyes. His face clears, as if he's pulled on an invisible veil and suddenly Henrik's staring at John, the Professor.

Henrik wishes he can do the same, but he's _exhausted_ and a part of him doesn't want to hide _._ Not this time.

John interprets his sigh as a _yes._ Perhaps it is a _yes._ It's not a _no._ He fastens his seat belt.. His eyes follow the movements. Henrik becomes lost in his hand – pale skin, skilled, ambidextrous – until he remembers and follows his example, a bit disturbed that he's forgotten this simple, yet crucial action.

He doesn't feel the urge to run. Not even when John releases the handbrake and checks the mirrors.

Nothing bad's happened so far. Henrik wonders if _this_ – seated in an unfamiliar car, seat belt trapping him, John in the driver's seat– is another leap of faith.

His therapist has joked about his middle name, _Love._ Strange that Henrik's thinking about this now.

He glances at John as the car accelerates.

Peculiar, _indeed._ Yet Henrik doesn't stop this train of thought.

One step at a time, as his therapist's said. As he undoubtedly will repeat again once they meet again.

His blue eyes meet his. John winks, then turns his attention back on the road. Henrik smiles, the second genuine smile of the day.

* * *

 _So funny thing, somehow I missed the little part where Hanssen's said he's finished therapy (has it been 10 weeks already?!), but I'm going to pretend he will make another healthy choice and continue his sessions and that Gaskell for once isn't using the hands off approach to dealing with Hanssen._


End file.
